My Big Fat Cullen Wedding
by Ashley Andrews
Summary: Summary will be here shortly...


Chapter 1: Prepare to be Windexed

**Chapter 1: Prepare to be Windexed!**

I remember the day I met my first Cullen. I had just moved to Forks, Washington. Again. Except this time, I had just graduated from college and was hoping to get a job teaching English at Forks High School. I wasn't positive they would hire me; they had been pretty glad to see me graduate and leave. I was, after all, uncommonly accident prone—an inconvenience to say the least—but I knew they were hiring for the position, and I also knew that the principal had a parking violation and the police chief was none other than my father, Charlie Swan. But back to the accident prone part…

Since I had just moved back, Charlie had insisted I live with him until I could find my own place. We both knew though that he never wanted me to find my own place, and I was pretty sure that he was already threatening anyone with a "for rent" sign in their front yard. I only had a few boxes to carry up the stairs to my old bedroom, the same one that had been mine since I was a baby. Not eager for bumps and bruises, I was extremely careful taking each step up the stairs and was going back for the last box in my car when my cell phone rang.

Let me add here that I don't particularly like cell phones, but everyone insists that I keep one in case of emergencies. Even I have to admit that they're useful. My little Nokia has probably saved my life on more than one occasion. Not that day though. On that day, I was skipping down the stairs (first mistake, I know) in a hurry to get that last box up to my room when my phone started ringing like crazy. Unthinkingly, I looked down while I reached into my pocket to pull out my cell. Well, I got it out of my pocket, but somewhere in the process of bringing the phone up to my ear, I lost my balance.

I've fallen down a half a flight of stairs before and survived with nothing more than some bruises. That's probably all that would have happened if a metal umbrella rack hadn't been sitting in the hallway, which meant Charlie forgot to Bella-proof the house. So I tumbled and smashed into every wall on my way down before slamming into the umbrella rack.

Unable to catch my breath, I lay crumpled on the floor for several minutes while I inhaled and exhaled over and over again. When I could finally breathe normally again, I stretched each limb, making sure none of them were broken. None were--this time--and I sighed gratefully. And then I noticed that my left forearm was bleeding. When I say bleeding, I don't mean a little trickle running down my arm in a pretty little blood line. No. I mean gushing blood from a nasty, gaping gash.

_That's going to leave a scar_, I thought dismally as I wrapped my arm in the bottom of my shirt to hide the bleeding. Blood makes me extremely sick to my stomach; I've seen it so much though that it doesn't make me puke anymore, although sometimes I still get light-headed like I might pass out. Within seconds, blood had soaked through my thin tshirt.

Holding my breath and cringing, I took another glance at the cut. I was definitely going to need stitches. Cursing myself under my breath, I looked around for my cell phone and sighed when I finally saw it broken neatly in two pieces halfway across the hallway. That figured. Getting shakily to my feet, I hurried to the kitchen and used the phone in there to call Charlie.

No answer.

I tried again.

Still no answer.

That meant he was probably out on a call.

Frowning, I tried to remember if I knew any of my old friend's phone numbers from high school. Angela? Mike? Hmm. Nope. I couldn't recall a single number. I would have to drive myself to the hospital.

After grabbing three kitchen towels out of the kitchen drawer, I fished my keys out of my pocket and went out to my car. It was a cheap Dodge Neon that was only meant to get me by until I could fix my truck. Ah, my truck. I glanced over to where it was resting next to the curb and felt nostalgia rise up in me. I missed driving it. It had inexplicably died before I left for college and I had been shipping it off from one mechanic to another in the hopes that someone could get the old clunker running again. So far, four years and thousands of dollars later, there was still no luck.

But I didn't have time to reminisce about my old Chevy right now, so I scooted into the driver's seat and revved up the little engine. It didn't take me long to drive to the hospital. I knew exactly where it was and the fastest way to get there. After parking, I headed into the Emergency Room waiting area and signed in. The nurse took one look at the bloody towels and my blood soaked shirt and her face blanched.

"Why, if it isn't Bella Swan," she said when she regained her composure. "Injured. Again."

"Hi Sherri. Nice to see you again, too," I said lightly, pushing strands of my long, dark brown hair out of my eyes with my good hand.

She handed me a release form to sign. "So what happened this time? You look like you fell down the stairs."

I signed my full name, Isabella Swan, in a quick flourish. "I did actually."

"My my," she said with a laugh and then quickly apologized. "Well what did you cut your arm on?"

"I'm not sure if it was the umbrella rack itself or one of the umbrellas that did it," I answered simply. "Do you think it will be a long wait? I'm starting to feel a little dizzy."

"Don't worry Sweetie," she said, patting my good arm with her manicured hand. "I'll get you right in. We have a new doctor and I think he just got off break."

"Thanks Sherri."

"Anytime Bella."

She was right that I didn't have to wait very long. I had just sat down and was trying to make myself comfortable when my name was called out and a nurse led me back to an examining room. Knowing the drill, I hopped up on the examining table and made small talk while then nurse checked my temperature and took my blood pressure.

"Dr. Cullen should be in here in just a moment," she said as she scribbled the last bit of information on a clipboard and then left, closing the door quietly behind her.

I swung my feet while I waited, but again, I didn't have to wait long.

The door opened and in swept a tall man. At first I thought I was in a rerun of Grey's Anatomy or something. He looked like a movie star, but even better looking if that's possible. His blonde hair was swept back off his forehead and he smiled down at me with warm golden brown eyes.

I smiled back, wishing my own boring, perfectly average brown eyes twinkled the way his did.

"How are we today…" He glanced at his clipboard, "Bella is it?" His voice had a slight English accent.

"Great!" I said, a little too chipper. "Um, except for the arm," I amended, holding it up for him to see.

_Like he couldn't already see it_, I chided myself mentally.

He smiled another warm smile and put the clipboard on the counter by the sink. "Here, let me take a look at that."

I took a deep breath while he took the towels off my arm and began to gently examine the cut.

"Mmm," he murmured under his breath. "You've lost quite a bit of blood."

I nodded like an idiot but kept my mouth shut.

He went to the cabinet and began taking out supplies. "Say Bella, what nationality are you?"

I frowned at his question. "American," I ventured hesitantly. What else would I be? Then I remembered his accent and told myself his question was a perfectly valid one. "And yourself?" I asked, expecting the obvious.

"Italian," he replied with another smile as he closed the cabinet.

"But your accent…"

"From Italy," he said simply as he picked up some gauze and came back over to where I sat.

I stared at him with raised eyebrows. He _definitely_ had an English accent. Instead of arguing with him, however, I just bit my lip and cringed as he began dabbing at the cut with the gauze, mopping up the excess blood.

"You know," he said while he worked, "many American words come from Italian words. Like the word bank, for example. It comes from the Italian banco, which means counter or table."

"Really…"

"Indeed. In addition to such lovely things as pizza, Italians have contributed greatly to American society." He threw the bloodied gauze in the trashcan and went back to rummage around in the cabinet.

"I'm sure they have," I replied politely. After all, I liked pizza as well as anybody else did.

I was about to say how much I liked pizza when he reached into a pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a miniature bottle of…

_Windex?_

I blinked my eyes a few times and stared as he approached me with the bottle, flipping the sprayer nozzle to "on."

"This might smart a little," he said as he leaned down and sprayed me once.

"Whoa! Dr. Cullen what are you doing?!" I exclaimed, pushing myself backwards on the examining table, scrunching up the paper that covered it.

"Windex cures everything," he stated as if it was perfectly obvious, already moving back in to apply more.

"No it doesn't," I argued. "It cleans windows!"

He looked as nice as ever, but I could tell by the tightness around his eyes when he smiled that I must have struck a nerve.

"Sorry, I guess you're the doctor, even if I totally disagree," I said, my tone one of defeat, but I couldn't help adding, "But can't you just use regular antiseptic spray?"

"You're going to need stitches," Dr. Cullen replied. "Windex is better than antiseptic. It cleanses _and _heals."

"Oh," I said skeptically, but I offered my arm out to him.

He smiled his warm smile again and began spraying my arm with the Windex. "Give me a word, any word…or words, if you prefer, and I'll show you how the root of that word is Italian."

"Stinging blood," I said through clenched teeth. My arm felt like it was on fire.

He paused in his attack of my arm. "Singing blood? Odd choice," he said, tilting his head in thought.

"No no, that's not what I—"

"_La tua cantante!_" Dr. Cullen exclaimed victoriously, adding one last spritz of the Windex bottle before he set it aside. "Singing blood! The blood singer…there you go!"

He grabbed a wicked looking needle off the counter and I felt the blood drain out of my face. I hated this part of stitches, the part where they give you a billion shots to numb the area.

Dr. Cullen didn't seem surprised to see me lie back on the examining table. He just started rambling on about other Italian words and the roots of Italian words as he numbed the area and began to stitch it up.

When he was finally done, I sat up in relief and then grabbed my head as the blood rushed into it making me feel woozy.

"Hey now, not so fast," Dr. Cullen said as he cleaned up the area. "The nurse told me you drove yourself here. Unfortunately, you're not going to be able to drive yourself home. You might pass out. Do you have anyone I can call for you?"

"Yeah. My dad, Police Chief Swan."

He told me he'd get a hold of him and then left me alone in the examining room.

About five minutes later, the nurse came back into the room. "Is there anyone else we can call for you, Miss Swan? The police department told us your father is unavailable right now."

"No," I said with a frown. "I just moved back. I don't know anyone else to call."

The nurse smiled a patient smile and left the room again.

To my surprise, it was Dr. Cullen who came back after another five minutes or so had passed, except this time he wasn't alone. He was accompanied by a man about my age with messy copper hair and beautiful green eyes that had flecks of golden brown in them.

My head started swimming the second he locked eyes with me.

"This is my son," Dr. Cullen announced, gesturing towards the man. "He's going to drive you home since we were unable to get in contact with your father."

"Hello," the man said with a slight, boyish smile as he held his hand out to me. "I'm Edward Cullen."

"Bella. Bella Swan," I managed to say as I placed my hand in his.

The second my skin brushed against his, a bolt of electricity shot up my arm and down the length of my back. My eyes grew big and I pulled my hand out of his. My skin tingled where he had held my hand.

Edward studied me intently with those beautiful green eyes as his smile widened, and I knew that he had felt whatever had passed between us, too.


End file.
